


saw you in the water

by extremegraphicviolins



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier | Dandelion Go To The Coast, Love Confessions, M/M, The Witcher Secret Santa 2020, it's about 1) water and 2) tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremegraphicviolins/pseuds/extremegraphicviolins
Summary: Water rushes over Geralt’s head. He scrunches his eyes shut and splutters, getting a mouthful of wet hair for his efforts.“There,” Jaskier says from behind him. “That’s much better, without all that… viscera.”or, a love story in five parts.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 264
Collections: The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	saw you in the water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [julek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/julek/gifts).



> this was written for julek for the 2020 witcher secret santa. happy new year, and i hope 2021 has lots of good things in store for you!

i.

Water rushes over Geralt’s head. He scrunches his eyes shut and splutters, getting a mouthful of wet hair for his efforts. 

“There,” Jaskier says from behind him. “That’s much better, without all that… viscera.” 

Geralt hears him pad around to the side of the tub and set the bucket on the floor. He pushes his hair back and opens his eyes, blinking the bathwater out of them, and the first thing he sees is Jaskier, kneeling on the floor next to the tub. 

Jaskier reaches over, combs his fingers through Geralt’s hair. Frowns. “Huh. Thought I got the last of the monster guts. Lean back for me, I’ll wash it out.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Geralt replies. “The worst of it’s gone.”

“It _does_ matter, though,” Jaskier says, “because it’ll get all crusty and start to smell, and-- just lean back, would you?”

Geralt grumbles, but closes his eyes and leans back anyhow. There’s the sound of Jaskier working the bar of soap into a lather, then nimble fingers slide into his hair, rubbing slow circles into his scalp. He lets himself relax into the touch. 

They’ve only been traveling together a year or so, but it was long enough for Geralt to determine that Jaskier wasn’t going to stab him in his sleep. And in that time, Jaskier has wormed his way into the space beside Geralt, with his never-ending chatter and his songs and his chamomile soap. It’s a change, after so many decades of quiet. But it isn’t bad, having company. Sometimes, it’s--

“Close your eyes,” Jaskier says, and dumps another bucket of water over Geralt’s head. This time it tastes like chamomile, and not in a good way. 

Geralt turns and gives him a look. 

Jaskier winces. “Sorry.”

Geralt turns back around and tries to ignore the taste of soap in his mouth. He takes it all back. Company is terrible. 

ii.

It starts to rain while they’re on the road, a light fall shower that isn’t bad until it soaks into Geralt’s clothes, leaving him with a chill that he won’t be able to shake anytime soon. 

He glances over at Jaskier, who’s walking beside Roach. He’s got his cloak pulled tight against the chill, and looks less than thrilled at the current weather. “How far did you say we were from town again?”

“About an hour now,” Geralt says. “The worst part of the journey is over.”

The sky chooses that moment to open up, because the gods love irony, apparently. Drops of rain turn into icy sheets. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and a crack of lightning dances across the sky.

“Fuck,” Geralt says. 

“Fuck indeed,” says Jaskier. In the five years that Geralt’s known him, he’s never liked the cold. His clothes are soaked through, his hair is plastered to his forehead, and his teeth are chattering so loud that Geralt can hear it. 

He slows Roach down to a halt. Holds out a hand. “Come here.”

Jaskier stops and looks at him. “What?”

“It’s faster to ride than to walk,” Geralt says. “Come here.”

“Oh. I-- Yes, good idea, let’s do that immediately.” The rain might be fucking freezing, but the warmth that crosses over Jaskier’s face before he climbs into the saddle would put the summer sun to shame. “Thank you,” he says, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist. 

Geralt grunts, and urges Roach on. 

They arrive at the inn half an hour later -- much sooner than Geralt thought they would, and not nearly soon enough. Jaskier is shaking like a leaf behind him. 

“I’ll get Roach settled in,” Geralt says. “You get us a room and some food.” _Go inside, get warm._

There’s enough coin for a meal and the last room, but not enough for a hot bath. Even with dry clothes and blankets, the chill from the rain still lingers under Geralt’s skin. Across the room, Jaskier is visibly shivering in the other bed, curled in on himself to conserve warmth. 

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier sits up a little. “Yeah?”

“Come here,” Geralt says for the second time that night, and lifts the corner of the blanket up. “You’re freezing.”

“You’re bloody right I’m freezing,” Jaskier says. He wraps himself in a blanket before crossing the room, and crawls into Geralt’s bed. “This is nice and cozy, though.”

It certainly is -- the single bed clearly wasn’t made to be shared by two grown men. They make it work, though. Geralt slings an arm over Jaskier’s waist, pulls him in close, with his back flush against Geralt’s chest. It’s the best position for sharing body heat, Geralt reminds himself, and that’s all. 

“Mm…” Jaskier snuggles in closer, burrowing into the blankets. After a few minutes, his shivering stops. 

“Better?” 

Jaskier yawns. “You’re so warm,” he mumbles. “Are you always so warm?” A few minutes later, he’s fast asleep. 

The funny thing is, he isn’t. It’s true that witchers run hotter than the average person, but tonight is different. Tonight, Geralt feels like he’s burning up. 

He decides not to dwell on why, and closes his eyes. 

(He wakes up in a tangle of limbs, Jaskier’s head resting on his chest, feeling better rested than he has in a long time.) 

iii. 

The lake is black and murky, flooding Geralt’s boots with cold, slimy water as he wades in, sword drawn. There’s supposed to be a nest drowners here, but there’s been neither hide nor hair of them so far. It doesn’t sit well. 

Jaskier wanders through the shallows, lute in hand, too close for comfort. 

“Don’t get so close,” Geralt calls. 

Jaskier puts his hands on his hips. “How am I supposed to _see_ anything, then?”

“You won’t see anything if you get killed by a drowner.”

“I won’t get killed,” Jaskier scoffs. “Nine years traveling with you, and I haven’t died yet. At this point, I’m basically unkillable.”

“Just get out of the water,” Geralt says. “You can look at it after it’s dead.”

Suddenly, there’s a splash, and a high-pitched scream. “Oh, fuck, _Ithinkthatmightbeabitofaproblem--”_

Geralt whips around just in time to see spindly grey hands close around Jaskier’s throat as a drowner pulls him under. 

A cold coil of fear shoots through Geralt. _“Jaskier!”_ He rushes through the water, all notions of stealth long forgotten. There’s no time, not when this shrivelled creature is about to devour his best friend in the world. 

At the sudden movement, the rest of the drowners start to rise from the lake. Eyes darting around, Geralt counts five of them before diving into the water where the creature took Jaskier. 

There are almost no survivors. 

He kills the first drowner so quickly that it could have been merciful, if not for the sheer rage and panic surging through Geralt’s veins. Once it’s nothing but a pile of slimy grey limbs, he hauls Jaskier over his shoulder and carries him to shore. He’s shaking and spluttering and coughing up lakewater, but he’s breathing. He’s alive.

He’s _alive._

The other five drowners go down in a blur. When the last one falls dead into the water, Geralt swims back to shore. He runs over to where Jaskier is sitting, propped against the trunk of a tree.

“Are you all right?” 

Jaskier coughs in response, and another lungful of murky water lands on the ground. Without thinking, Geralt’s hand goes to his back to steady him. “‘M fine,” Jaskier says. “I’ll be fine.” He smiles softly, so at odds with the water dripping down his chin and the algae in his hair. “Guess you were right about staying out of the water, huh?” 

“Jaskier, I--”

_I’ve never been so scared._

_I thought I lost you._

_I love you._

_I--_

Oh. _Oh._

Geralt looks up, realizing that he’s gone quiet, that Jaskier’s looking at him expectantly. “You could have died,” he eventually says. “Next time, keep your distance.”

“Trust me, I will,” Jaskier says, and coughs again. “I am _not_ looking to have a repeat of that particular performance.” Without so much as a warning, he takes Geralt’s hand, twines their clammy fingers together. “Thanks for not letting me die.”

Geralt smiles wryly. “Thanks for not dying.”

Geralt’s not sure how long they stay like that, sitting hand in hand under the tree. It feels like a long time. But he knows that when they stand up to leave and Jaskier’s fingers slip away, he misses it.

He misses it a lot.

iv.

The coast was Jaskier’s idea. All of it, from the little fishing village to the cottage on the beach. It would be a nice escape, Jaskier had said. And it is -- almost nicer than a witcher’s life has any right to be.

It’s been a week or so, and in that time, they’ve fallen into a routine: wake up to sunlight streaming through the windows, have breakfast -- eggs and bread and strawberry jam-- and go to the beach. Jaskier shucks off his shoes and rolls up his pants and goes wading into the waves. Geralt watches, sometimes. Buries his toes in the sand and takes in the view, the sounds of the waves mingling with Jaskier’s voice. Other times, he follows. Leaves his boots on the shore and steps into the ocean. Lets Jaskier splash him with seawater, then retaliates by tackling him into the shallows, both of them laughing so hard that Geralt’s ribs hurt. They go for walks, too, and cook the fish Geralt catches for dinner, and look for constellations at night before tucking into bed. 

It’s all so _easy,_ so terribly domestic that Geralt almost forgets that in the two and a half years since his quiet, earth-shattering, ichor-soaked realization, he hasn’t done a goddamn thing about it. 

He’s not good with words, is the problem. Can never find the right ones, or when he does, they just stick in his throat. 

But he thinks that for Jaskier, he ought to try.

Their vacation was bound to end eventually. Geralt knew this. Still, when he hears about a kikimora a few towns over, he can’t help but wish that it could have lasted forever. 

Their last night at the cottage is a quiet one. Jaskier packs up their belongings while Geralt cooks dinner. They’ll be on the road by dawn the next morning, so they both decide to call it an early night.

“This was nice,” Jaskier says when they’re curled up in bed, Jaskier’s back warm against Geralt’s chest. “We should come back sometime. I hear it’s _gorgeous_ here in the spring… oh, but then I’d miss the bardic competition up north, and I’ll be damned if I let Valdo Marx win…”

He keeps rambling. Geralt tries to pay attention, he really does. But his heart is so full of fondness and warmth and love, so much that it’s going to spill out at any moment, and he doesn’t think he can keep it quiet a moment longer.

“Jaskier.”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

Jaskier turns around in his arms. “Yes,” he says, the surprise on his face quickly growing into a smile, “and in other news, water is wet.”

Geralt furrows his brow. “What?”

Jaskier smiles softly, his lute-callused hand cupping Geralt’s face. “You think I didn’t know? You say it to me all the time. Just not with words. Until now, I suppose.” He burrows in closer. “And I love you too, you know. Just so we’re clear on that.”

“Hm. I might need you to tell me again,” Geralt says. “Just to make sure.”

Jaskier shrugs. “Alright. I love you,” he says, and kisses Geralt on the nose. “I love you.” Another kiss, on his cheek. “I love you.” A third kiss, on his forehead, that he can feel Jaskier smiling into. “Shall I keep going?”

Geralt shakes his head. “It’s my turn. I love you,” he says, and pulls Jaskier in for a kiss.

They don’t do much talking the rest of the night. 

v.

They both go to Kaer Morhen the next winter. Geralt spends his days sparring and hunting and doing odd jobs around the keep, and his nights tangled up with Jaskier under a pile of blankets and furs. 

Jaskier seems to be enjoying his time at Kaer Morhen too, reading in the library and composing new songs on his lute and wandering the sprawling grounds of the keep. But that’s nothing compared to the way his eyes light up when Geralt shows him the hot springs. 

“Geralt,” he says, eyes wide as he takes in the steaming pools of water, “I cannot _believe_ you’ve been hiding this from me for literal years.” He starts shucking off layers of clothing, letting them drop unceremoniously to the ground until he’s fully naked. “Infinite hot baths, in the winter.” He turns around just in time to catch Geralt staring, and gives him a wry smile. “Like what you see?”

“Very much so.”

“Good,” Jaskier says, and slips into one of the pools. “Because I’m never leaving this place, swear to Melitele.”

Geralt walks over to the pool. “Never?”

“Nope,” Jaskier says happily. “At least, not until spring.”

“You’ll look like a prune.”

Jaskier laughs. “Yeah, but you’ll still love me.”

“Mm.” Geralt kicks off his boots and sits on the ledge of the pool, letting his feet dangle in the water. “I will.” Absentmindedly, he starts playing with Jaskier’s hair, running his fingers through it. 

“That feels nice,” Jaskier murmurs. His eyes have slipped closed, and he’s smiling softly. 

“Want me to rub your shoulders?”

“Mm, maybe later,” Jaskier says. “Right now, I think you should join me.”

“The others will wonder where I went,” Geralt says, but any protest is weakened by the fact that he’s already unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Then tell them I seduced you,” Jaskier says with a cheeky smile. “Get in here, Geralt.” 

And who is Geralt to deny him? Heart full and grinning, he kicks off the rest of his clothes and plunges into the water. 


End file.
